Dangerous Davies and the Lonely Heart by Leslie Thomas

Author:Leslie Thomas [Leslie Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1999-08-04T16:00:00+00:00

7

When it was dark four nights later, Davies went cautiously through the streets by the railway to the yard where Pearly Gates and his assistants worked long and unusual hours on motor repairs and alterations. Over the top of the ragged corrugated-iron sheets that surrounded it there was a glow, soft as a halo, and from within there came a sizzling sound. The section that served as a door had neither handle nor knocker but it was locked. He banged on it with the flat of his hand. At first there was no response so he banged again, harder. The halo diminished and disappeared and the sizzling ceased. The top half of an oil-streaked youth appeared, pointing an oxyacetylene burner through the gap like a gun. ‘What you want?’

‘First,’ said Davies, ‘I want you to take that hot tool away from my face.’

The youth said: ‘I got it under control ’aven’t I.’ But he removed it. ‘What you want?’ he enquired again.

‘Pearly,’ said Davies.

‘You got somefing for ’im? He ain’t ’ere.’

‘Where is he? I’m a friend.’

‘Ah, yeah. I ’member you now. You was a copper.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s got took poorly. ’e’s at ’ome.’

Davies remembered that Gates lived in the same street. ‘Where’s ’ome?’

Cautiously, as if he still suspected a trap, the youth emerged fully from the gate and, pointing with the burner, said: ‘Straight down. Number forty. Knock twice, wait, then knock two more.’

Davies grunted his thanks and the youth went back into the yard closing the tin door noisily. Soon the sizzling noise began again and the halo flickered and grew above the palings. Davies pulled his collar up and went further down the street. At the bottom was the railway and he could see the giant washing sheds where they laundered the Eurostar trains for the following day’s journeys to Paris and Brussels, Willesden’s link with the Continent.

Pearly’s house was surprisingly neat. The front garden was tight but well trimmed and there were some rain-sodden roses and a clump of Michaelmas daisies tied up with string. He knocked on the door, the special knock.

Another halo appeared in the fanlight above the door and it was opened by a young but weary woman. ‘Is Mr Gates in, please?’ said Davies.

‘He is. But you can’t see him.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s dying.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that . . .’

A rough voice sounded from within. ‘Who is it, Annie?’

‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘My name’s Davies. I’m a friend.’

She turned and called up the stairs. ‘Mr Davies. Says he’s a friend.’

‘Ah . . . Is that Dangerous?’

She studied Davies. ‘Are you Dangerous?’

‘I’m not, but I am . . . if you understand me.’

‘He says he is, but he isn’t,’ she called.

‘That’s Dangerous. Send him up.’

Annie stepped aside and allowed Davies into the narrow passage. There was a huge gilt-framed mirror displayed like a memento. She went back to the door and glanced outside. ‘I wasn’t followed,’ Davies said. ‘I made sure.’

‘It’s not you I’m worried about,’ she said. She was not far off having been attractive.

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